Vital
by HeavyEdges
Summary: After Zack and Ray escape from their respective prisons, fate leads them on long and personal journey together; they'll aim to seek redemption in death—finding both revelations in life, and salvation in one-another. [Canon continuation, Zack/Ray.]
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello! Thank you for your interest. Firstly, please be aware the content in this story is not suitable for children—including (but not limited to), blood/violence, murder, attempted rape, mental illness, unhealthy/inter-age relationships, substance abuse, foul language, and (while not explicit,) sexual content. Please refrain from reading if you're under eighteen years old.

Thank you for your interest regardless, reviews and favorites are always appreciated!

* * *

Vital; "essential," something acutely necessary. When she thought about it, it was befitting (in an almost ironic way) that a person's "vitals" were the measures of their heartbeat—as that read-out also considered the lack-thereof. That "vital" something might very well be necessary in both life—and death.

* * *

Prologue

_Stop cryin' and smile._

Was this a dream? An illusion? A desperate wish made true by her own mind?  
No. This was _real._

The azure orbit reflected in her eyes. Despite everything, or perhaps considering it—she just couldn't smile. She_ couldn't._ Forcing the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards even in the slightest was all but impossible, right now more than ever. For _so long_ she'd wanted to see him again, to know their promise could find salvation before her grave. And now, he was _right here_, he was all she could see, all she could fathom. He was still _alive._

She couldn't stop crying. She was so _relieved._ She was so _happy._ And because of that, however ironically, she just _couldn't_ smile. Her dead, tearful gaze bore into his asymmetric, golden eyes. There was only one thing she wanted more than to stay in that single moment forever. At least it'd be her_ last._

And then—pain rebounded through her form in the fraction of an instant. Red splattered across vision—but somehow, all went white, like the wings of an angel. It almost seemed unfair to him, that she couldn't bring herself to smile right now. But, if this was enough for him...

The last thing she could remember was falling forward, and farther into his embrace.

_This was it, right?  
__—Finally, t__heir promise..._

* * *

_"Zack!"_

Instantly, Rachel jolted awake on high alert. She panted heavily, sweat dripping down the side of her forehead; her lashes fluttered rapidly in a blur of confusion. She awoke to the unsteady feeling of a shaky, moving structure. It made the tendon connecting her shoulder to her torso ache abnormally and without mercy. It was... a familiar feeling. "Geezus—!" A startled voice echoed the sentiment from beside her, causing the moving structure to jostle slightly. Rachel felt the motion course through her aching body. "Where's the damn fire?!"

Her intense heartbeat seemed to slow, if not stopping entirely. Her blurry vision drifted through her blonde locks before settling on him. _Zack._

"Well, well. Look who's finally awake," he exhaled a laugh to accompany a teasing tone. Awareness was slowly settling. They were... in a car, in the driver and passenger's seats, respectively. "I was almost worried for a second, but I know it takes a lot more than a gunshot to kill you." Ray let out a curious "huh?" and, as if on cue, her gaze twitched in search of such an ailment—and as she did, she flinched in pain, clutching her shoulder. "'Ey, easy!" he exclaimed, though it resounded more-so in a tone of annoyance than concern. "Didn't ya just hear me?!"

"I..." a breathy exhale interrupted her sentiment. She looked to her shoulder, wrapped shoddily in medical bind; it was stained red. It felt nothing like her last gunshot; it grazed and tore through part of the tendon, but it wasn't fatal—nor intentional, it seemed. Trying to wrap her brain around the idea, she repeated after him, "I was shot."

He laughed, as if to say, '_no shit_'.

Rachel paused to remember the moment. The distant red and blue lights resounded with sirens, and he'd even said they didn't have much time. The police must've had orders to shoot on sight. Too bad all the training in the world was no match for a seasoned killer turned escaped convict. "_Oh_," Rachel replied simply. Her heart twinged with the notion of disappointment.

"Poured the whole thing of that anti-hemma-_whatever_ shit on it and used the bandages on my hands for the wraps." Ray's gaze fell to his palms, gripping the steering well. He was... wearing a dirty pair of gloves. "Gonna have to stitch yourself up, though."

He didn't need to go through all that trouble to save her. _Really._

"Officer Friendly was pretty _shitty_ shot." He gave her something akin to a teasing look, but it seemed more like a taunt. "Sucks for you, but y'know how it goes." Regardless of the fact, she could see a fresh shade of red on his hoodie among the coagulated splatters. She gave him a weak look.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Just grazed my side," he reassured her, just as he always had. "You should be worryin' about_ yourself._ You're lucky I left the motor running, or we'd be up shit creek without a paddle," he gave an amused chuckle. "Almost didn't get away." Finally taking notice to the situation, Rachel gave a momentary pause.

"I didn't know you could drive."

He raised an eyebrow, mouth slightly agape in an entirely unamused look. "_Please._"

...Right. He'd probably stolen more cars then she'd even ridden in. Finally allowing her gaze to release him, Ray looked towards the forward window—and the long, open highway. The sight of a seemingly unending nothing made her shoulder ache deeper. It'd be a while before they'd find somewhere to stop. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Across the state line," he replied. "The old preacher waitin' at his safe-house for us."

Father Gray?  
"He's... _alive_?"

"Yeah," Zack exhaled a laugh. "Sumbitch made it out of a that buildin' right under our noses, can ya believe it?" He had a knowing smirk on his face despite the fact. "Doesn't surprise me though; he's the one who broke my ass outta the slammer."

_Huh._ She wondered if Zack would deny the preacher's affinity for him, now. "Do you know how to get there?" Rachel asked, genuinely curious (and depending on his answer, also impressed.)

"He made me a map. It ain't too hard to follow." The young man reached forward, grabbing a wrinkled roadmap before tossing it to Ray. She studied it for a moment; it looked to be a pretty straight shot on the highway. "Besides, I've been there before."

She looked back over to him in the closest thing she could feel to surprise. "When?"

"When he and I met," Zack explained simply. "Geezer had a church around my old stomping grounds before he started that hell hole."

"I see," replied Rachel softly. A pause lingered as he offered nothing more on the matter. Asking the obvious, she had to inquire, "Do you... think we can trust him?"

"I hope so," Zack only laughed, taking the matter in stride, "or I'ma beat his ass for makin' us drive all the way there just to fuck with us." He took his eyes off the road for a moment to flash Ray an amused smirk. As he looked back, Ray couldn't help but echo the sentiment despite her vacant optics.

A gloved palm reached for the FM radio. After muttering among the static and smacking the dial, Zack settled on some rock station or another. Despite the ruckus, it was oddly calming to his younger companion. Rachel leaned back in her seat, staring up at the roof of the car.

_Zack, Zack..._  
_You're really alive. _

Rachel's empty gaze then fell to the half drawn window, landing on the azure mass in the sky, as if gravity had pulled her into its orbit. The full moon was yet that brilliant, fluorescent shade of blue... the _real_ moon—even now.

_But, Zack—  
Why am I?_


	2. Atone, Rachel Gardner

Chapter One: Atone, Rachel Gardner

The drive thereafter was spent mostly in silence. She was too tired for much more than the hum of the radio and the sight of the slowly rising sun. She'd dozed off more than once, but around eight-thirty A.M., they'd finally reached their destination (and miraculously, Zack only missed the exit once.)

"We're here—_thank freakin' hell,_" Zack gave a gruff exhale, hands stuffed in his pockets—slamming the car door with a shove of his foot. "Don't think I could'a taken another minute in that damn truck."

The second Ray stepped out of the vehicle, a strange scent hit the back of her nose. The aroma was familiar.

Wait. _Was that_—?  
She shook her head.

The duo turned to the building. It was a relatively small, wooden structure with brightly colored stain-glass windows, not unlike those Gray'd had on B2—like those that could be found in any self-respecting church. It was surrounded by a thick forest and overrun with foliage. Instead of opening the door like a normal person, Zack (again,) slammed the bottom of his shoe against the large entrance, forcing it ajar.

Inside was what one might suspect of a place like this—a podium before an audience of benches, lined in rows of two. Behind the stand on either side were two doors, one for the preacher, and the other for confessionals. Beyond the rest, it smelled even more strongly of that same, overwhelming scent—from the floor to the ceiling.

"Reeks like a hoard of dead rats in here," Zack let out a single hack the moment he'd walked through the door, Rachel's nose twitched as well.

"I apologize if the salvation I've offered isn't to your liking."

The duo pivoted in sync as the voice called from behind. Gray stood tall and regal, just as he always had. One hand was hidden, tucked behind his back—while the other held his bible at chest level.

"Geezus—_fuck_!" Zack exclaimed over-dramatically. "When the hell did you get there?!"

"But only a minute ago," he said, yet collected. "I was taking care of some business in the woods out back." Ray gave him a skeptical look (or the closest thing she could muster.) If he noticed, he was unfazed. "I didn't think it'd be so easy to catch you off your guard."

Needless to say, Zack (nor Rachel,) liked the way he'd phrased that. "Well, _fuckin'_—don't be creepin' around like that. You're lucky I didn't slice you in two," the boy replied with a scowl.

"Indeed," Gray said simply, taking the comment in a stride to rival Rachel's. Venturing a few steps forward, he walked past the younger duo. "Now then, shall we?" Perhaps resentfully, Zack followed his lead—muttering curses under his breath. Rachel, however, stood stagnant yet.

"Are you coming, Ms. Gardner?"

For the first time, Abraham acknowledged Ray's individual presence. Her skeptical gaze lowered with a tilt of her head, but she didn't take her eyes off him. "Yes," she answered ultimately. Taking a slow step, she followed the two men into the building, the large doors shutting loud behind her.

* * *

"I'm afraid that was the last of the antihemorrhagic," Gray lit the two candles sitting on the front podium, "but please make use of the church's remaining supplies as you see fit. The rafters are wooden, but there are blankets in the closet."

"Geez, didn't know I was stayin' in a five-star hotel." Zack crossed his arms, passing silent judgement on the establishment. This place was in even rougher shape than his murder mansion.

"You may sleep outside, should you rather."

He huffed a laugh. "What's next, complimentary breakfast? I'm starvin'." Ray zoned out from the back and forth between her seniors; Gray's collected tone seemed to rebound off Zack's in an almost systematic way.

Returning to a tall stance, Gray turned. "Regardless, if you require nothing further, I'll be back in my study." As he was so quick to dismiss himself, Rachel's heart pounded at an odd pace—even if Zack withheld no reservations. Truly, despite the circumstances, she couldn't help but feel a sort of unease.

_It must've been that scent._

"_Wait,_" Rachel said, soft and abrupt. Abraham stopped, no so-much as turning to inquire over his shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked.  
—A long pause was held before she finally found her proper voice.  
"Why are you doing this?"  
—An even longer pause followed before he answered.

_"_To_ atone, _Rachel Gardner."

Zack let out an unhumored "hah!", but Ray only looked to him with eyebrows knit in confusion. "What for?" she asked ultimately. Turning in full to look back to her, his confident and stern expression never faltered.

"For a girl acclaimed in her mind, I'd think you could discern as much for yourself."

From behind her, Zack wore an amused glower. "You're _so_ full of shit, dude." The preacher neither concurred nor denied. "What—wanna go back on all the deaths you wracked up in your little fun house?"

"What I've done is left between myself and God alone." Gray replied with his firm belief of honesty, and—as always, that assuredness resounded in his expression. "However, you, of all people, made me realize the path I must now follow, Rachel Gardner."

She stared back, _soulless.  
_"I must atone."

Gray's footsteps echoed heavily as he took his leave. The door slammed shut with a thud; the candle flames flickered in the cross breeze. Rachel's vacant gaze lowered to her bare feet; there was an odd, reddish tint in the floorboards. Hm.

The sins Father Gray had on his hands... did he really think he could make up for them so easily?  
That if he did this, right now—God would forgive him in the end?

_"What a load of crap."_

A metallic clang followed as Zack threw his scythe to the side. He flopped down into one of the congregational seats. "He's probably got as much blood on his hands as I do, but he still goes around talkin' down to us and shit."

Taking slow steps before sitting down at his side, Ray replied, "He did say he saved you, though."

Zack rolled his eyes, growling in annoyance. "Yeah, well—it's_ his_ fault I was ever thrown in jail in the first place."

Rachel lingered in a momentary silence.  
"I don't know if that tru—"

"Shove it."  
—Okay.

"How did he do it?" Ray changed the subject. "Helped you escape, I mean."

A smirk returned to Zack's face. "Remember all that creepy mind bullshit he pulled on you?" A humored huff followed; "Must be some pretty strong shit, 'cause those drugs worked on the whole damn prison." Boasting what little whit he had, Zack went on, "But I knew somethin' was up when I saw that big white snake."

Ray looked down once more to the maroon stains. He really... _had_ done a lot for them, hadn't he? Just so they could fulfill their promise he had a shaky faith in at best. And yet, given that trouble, and their promise...

_Here they were._

Rachel took a few steps forward, however standing behind him at a comfortable distance yet. "Zack?"

"What?" he looked over his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're still alive,_ but..._" she trailed off.

Oh, great. _Here we go again._

She didn't need to finish the sentiment—the tone of her voice said it all, like it had, many times before. "But, why are_ you_, right?" That was to say, why hadn't he killed her yet. "Ya think I was _plannin'_ on you gettin' shot again, or what?_ Been kinda busy_."

Alright, then...  
"Are you free now?"

"Geez, make it sound like a dentist appointment, why don't ya?" Again, he rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm starvin'. Help me find something to eat, then we'll talk." Fair enough terms, right? "Doubt Old Man Preacher has much stored in this dump, though."

Ray was silent, but ultimately, she stood. She walked to the nearby cupboard; the nobs were caked with a fine layer of dust and webs. Brushing them away, the inside was pure and untouched. There was nothing of interest on the first two shelves, but on the bottom were three cans of something or another. Taking them in hand, she turned and held one out.

"Soup."

His eyes lit with amusement. "Well, I'll be damned. And God said, 'let there be light'." He arose to stride over to her, taking a tin and popping the top open.

Well, he had food.  
"Now?"

"Would you just give me a fuckin' _second_, kid?" With his hand on his hip, he turned with the can to his lips. "Jesus Christ."

Doing as he asked, almost robotically, Rachel turned towards the podium. Passing the time, her gaze panned up to the stained-glass above the alter. With his hand in his pocket, he stepped to her side and gazed upon the cloaked, angelic figure as well.

"Who's 'is bitch, anyway?" he asked, swallowing down a mouthful of soup, "I keep seein' her everywhere."

"The Virgin Mary," she replied, "Jesus's mother."

Zack raised an eyebrow, expression nearly shouting the words, "ya gotta be kiddin' me". Not even gonna _comment_ on that one. Beyond the woman was a man hung on a cross—he could recognize that much. "And that's the baby boy right there, 'eh?" Rachel nodded. On the cross, soon to die for her sins...

_Her sins._

"Zack?"

A growl reverberated in his throat. Was_ he_ really the one who needed to learn patience? "What did I _just_ say, Ray?"

"That—you needed a minute," she replied—however venturing to ask, "but, is it okay... if_ I_ take a minute, too?"

Zack raised an eyebrow. "What, before bein' murdered?" She nodded; he shrugged. For someone who constantly talked about how much she wants to die, she sure was flippant sometimes. "Knock yourself out, I guess." He wasn't done with his soup yet, anyway.

"Thanks," said Ray nonchalantly. Putting her hands together at chest-height, Rachel closed her eyes, tilting her head back slightly towards the stained-glass.

"...What are you doing?" _Dare he ask._

Not opening her eyes or breaking her concentration, she replied simply, "Praying."

_Weird time for her to start that._ "Why?"

"I want to repent," she said softly, "at least once."

He raised his brow, an expression reflecting surprise. "Ha!" Zack exclaimed, taking a large, final sip before throwing the can on the floor. "Think you're gonna have to do _a lot_ more than that before ya gotta ticket upstairs." Her soulless, dead eyes opened partially as her eyebrows knit together.

"What else can I do?"

"Don't ask me," he gave a humored exhale, "_I'm_ the serial killer, here."

And then, like a drop of morning dew from a rose petal, a _sparkling sonance_ echoed in Rachel's ears.

_"What?"_

"Hm?" Zack hummed. It was as if he'd said something truly remarkable—though even Rachel wasn't quite sure what that could've been. She gazed back, eyes wide with wonder. "...What?" Truth be told, he felt kind of unsettled by the look on her face. "Stop starin' at me like an idiot."

"I," Tension built in a long moment as she gave no answer. Looking the other way once more, she concluded, "..._Sorry_. It's nothing."

"Freakin'—_space cadet,_" he acted as though he'd dismissed her behavior... but, noting the _absent look_ on her face, he finally turned and took his scythe in hand. Half-heartedly, he asked, "So, we doin' this or not?" Rachel was silent as the sound of metal drags across the stone floor. "'Cause it sure looks like you're not smiling," he said in a taunting tone.

"I'm sorry," she answered softly. "I still need a minute."  
She had a lot on her mind.

He was surprised she showed no interest in trying to fake him out with a forced expression. "Girl, you pick the absolute _shittiest_ times to care."

"I still want to die," she corrected him quickly, "it's, just—"

As she spoke, however, she was cut off as Zack flopped back down on a rafter with his scythe at his side. As he did, he let out a pained groan. "_Hng_—!"

She flipped to look at him, he was clutching his side, "Zack—" she ran to kneel beside him, showing something akin to urgency, "are you okay?"

"Fine," he muttered. Just another bullet wound, and not even the worst he'd had.

Rachel dared peek past the tear in his tattered hoodie. He claimed it dismal, yet his torso... was still bloody and swollen. He hadn't even wrapped over it. "I don't think you took care of yours well enough..."

Nagging, nagging, nagging. "The bullet just grazed me, it didn't get stuck in it." Truly, all thing considered, _not_ a big deal.

Rachel looked downtrodden. It really... should've been stitched. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I don't have any thread with me."

"Tch," he smirked, "don't worry. It'll heal."

Her vacant expression lit with a sort of weakness, but she nodded ultimately. Images of all the collateral he'd acquired during their time in the building flashed in her mind. When considering as much, she supposed she really _shouldn't_ be doubting him. He'd taken more bullet wounds than most people would ever fathom in their life... and here he was, living to see another day nearly a year later.

After a moment, she rested only her head on the bench seat next to him, gazing up with half-lidded eyes. Zack raised a bandaged brow, "What are you doing?"

_"Tired,"_ was her only exhale.

He gave a sigh and a shrug. "Whadda'ya say we get some sleep, then I'll kill you tomorrow." The young man closed his eyes, too. Rachel echoed the sentiment with a subtle nod. Before she closed her gaze off in full, however, she looked over to Zack's scythe nearby...

She reached out, pulling it closer. It's metallic handle rested in the crook of her elbow. Just like that, she fell asleep cradling the reaper's weapon.

It'd been a long time since she'd slept so deeply.

* * *

_"I've decided I'm going to carry our promise forever."_

* * *

He jolted awake instantly. An near inaudible yelp escaped his lungs, rolling off his tongue with an "R". His consciousness subsided the call, however. He put a hand to his chest, over his racing heart—gripping the fabric of his hoodie. His breath was heavy as he gazed to his lap in a daze, trying to reacquaint himself with the world of waking. He put a hand to his head, shifting to the sight of the girl yet resting by his leg.

_Ray._

It was the same place she'd fallen asleep, but, she was... _holding his scythe?_ "The hell?" He face twisted light with confusion.

She probably fell asleep thinkin' about her untimely demise or_ some shit. _He gave an exhale of annoyance, standing to adjust himself. He pulled his hood down, scratching the back of head as he stretched.

"Did you sleep well, Isaac?" Turning his attention, the young man looked towards the voice that called to him. Reverend Gray stood at the podium.

"_Peachy fuckin' keen,_ thanks," he exhaled a laugh.

"You say as much, though you were muttering in your sleep," the reverend noted bluntly, "I see nightmares yet _plague_ your slumber."

Zack's amused expression dropped. "Shove it, or I'll slice that _dingy_ mug of yours."

Gray smirked back to him. "Ah yes, you made no such promise to slay _my_ smiling face." Zack rolled his eyes as the older man stepped out from behind his place, walking past the bandaged boy. "Perhaps you'd like to discuss what's been clouding your dreams in the confessional?"

Zack snorted. "_As if_."

Gray looked over his shoulder with a sly expression. "You won't even humor an old man? I did save your life, after all."

Zack paused, blinking... before he let out a mild laugh. He stood up straight. Ain't his style, but, hey? Preacher wanted to play that card, maybe he could make it_ fun._ "Well, when ya put it like _that_," a mischievous smile spread beneath his wraps, "I _hate_ owin' people favors—so just this once, then we'll call it fair."

Leading the way, Gray replied, "Fair enough, indeed." The duo entered the door left of the central stand. It was_ way_ too small for Zack's liking—only lit by a single, dim candle. There was a dusty counter, atop which a gated fence divided the two; they sat on either side, facing one another. Putting up his feet, the younger leaned back.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

"Isaac Foster," Abraham finally said. He did a strange gesture Zack couldn't recognize—pointing to his head, heart, then side to side. "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—_confess thy sins_."

An entirely unhumored laugh was forced from the lungs of the addressed. "All'a this again?" The corner of his mouth turned upwards. "You should know by now that this _shit_ don't work on me like it does with Ray." —That was also to say: "I don't _believe_ in your i_nvisible man_ in the sky." He'd risen his voice a bit, as if to taunt the reverend with the fact.

"Perhaps not," replied the preacher, however unfazed, "but your response might also be the answer to your overcast, unconscious mind." Zack raised an eyebrow, scoffing another laugh. He really wanted to hear it, huh?

"Alright," he lowered his voice again. "I'll play along." A momentary pause followed as he mused him, as if he really did have to think on the matter.

"Well, sometimes, I sleep late on the weekends. I've littered in the road..." he lingers, as if he's pensive, however overlapped by a satirical hum. "Oh, and," he laughs, "_I'm a serial killer._" The words dripped from his lips, like the blood from a scythe wound. It sounded so much less like a confessional—but rather a cause for victory. "I've killed more innocent people than I can even _count_." (Quite literally. He could only count so high.) Despite his sentiments, Reverend Gray didn't so much as bat an eye.

"Why?" he asked simply.

An unnerving grin. "'Cause it was fun," he explained. "'Cause I_ just couldn't help myself._"

"You say as much," the elder notes quickly, "though you've yet to slay _Rachel Gardner_."

Through the gate, Zack narrows his eyes. "That's different, and you already know why."

"Because of your oath, yes," Gray sits tall, never faltering in posture. "But even as I enabled you—and so far as under the influence of drugs, you've always resisted. Is that promise more important than your personal enjoyment?" A twinge beats through the younger man's heart.

"So what if it is?"

"Then it'd seem," a hand finds it's way to his bible, "Rachel Gardner has shattered your_ greatest sin,_" he explained, to which Zack eyebrows knit together, never releasing the man from his glare. He wasn't sure he understood... but he knew he wasn't happy about it.

"The _hell_ does that mean?"

"She has absolved you of your most severe vice." Without reluctance, Gray elaborated to Zack's dismay. "You cared so deeply to maintain your oath that you spared her life until you returned to the world beneath the true, pale moon."

And now, he'd hit a nerve.

"Who gives a _shit_ if I did?" Zack rose in tone. "That was for my sake, not hers—I'll be_ damned_ if I let her make a liar out of me!"

The boy heard a small chortle from the other side. "Yes, _of course._ The lord _does_ look down on those dishonest," his remark earned a growl from the penitent, "but that fact can't change what's already passed." Zack felt as though something grew tight in the pit of his chest.

"The fuck ya tryin'a say, Preacher?"

"Nothing remarkable," Abraham shrugs, "though simply that—perhaps _angels_ aren't the only ones who can save those that've lost their way."

For a moment, the boy grew perplexed; it took a second to understand his meaning. The pounding in his chest grew more intense. The adrenaline was almost _painful_. He spoke in a gravely whisper, as if inciting a threat. "Nobody can_ 'save'_ me," his tone was venomous and biting, "not even Ray."

Gray was unfazed as ever; "I did not mean _her_."

To which Zack grew silent. After a moment, the boy leaned in close to the screen. "I _am_ going to kill Rachel."

Abraham nodded. Sincerely, he replied, "I never doubted that."

Zack's nails dug into his bandaged palms. He glared through the holes in the grated screen, to the pearl sclera staring back.

You know, for real?  
_Fuck this guy._

"You act all high and mighty, as if _God himself_ is stickin' his dick in your ass—but at the end of the day, you're just as _fucked_ as the rest of us."

With Zack's... unholy language in the house of God, Gray narrowed his eyes. _"Isaac—"_

"You keep sayin' we're all sinners, _damned_ to _fuck_—but all the people who died in your little building? Dear Doctor Danny, that sadomasochist bitch," he huffed a laugh, "even the _brat_..." —not to mention, _all the sacrifices_— "it ain't on me, it ain't on Ray." He pointed to him, through the screen. "_That's all you."_

Gray took a stern tone, "My hand is _not_ the center of this confessional."

"Sure, _sure_," Zack snorted, "but, hey, just _riddle me this_, Preacher," Gray's untoward glower was now perhaps shown more-so for what the boy would next ask: "Just _how much_ blood's really been stained on that Bible, anyway?"

Abraham was silent.  
His hand gripped the sacred book tighter, but his gaze on the boy didn't falter.  
_"Isaac..."_

* * *

" — May God give you heaven's dew and earth's richness—an abundance of grain and new wine. May nations serve you and peoples bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may the sons of your mother bow down to you. May those who curse you be cursed, and those who bless you be blessed. "  
—12:3, Genesis

* * *

As the reverend parted his lips to speak...  
His voice was lost to a sound much louder.

"_Come out unarmed with your hands behind your head!_"

The screech of Zack's chair scrapping echoed on the floor. "W-What the hell...?!" yelled the boy. Gray's neck jolted to snap in the direction of the door. A muffled voice echoed over megaphone from beyond the building; police sirens blared.

Zack exhaled, looking to his senior with wide eyes. _The cops._ Abraham gazed back, showing a rare sense of distress. It wasn't a moment before the duo burst out the confessional door. Remarkably, Rachel was yet to stir. As the reverend ran to his office, Zack was quick to grab the wakeless by the scruff of her dress, forcing her to stand; his scythe fell to the floor with a clank. That, ironically, was the sound that roused her. A confused mutter slipped past her lips, _"Huh?" _

"Rise and shine, Sleepin' Beauty," Zack hissed, picking up his scythe in the other hand. "We've got company."

Disoriented, the girl looked around. Flashing, red and blue lights tinted the stained glass somehow _more_ vibrant. "The... the police?" Her heart rate was caught in a strange moment; the rush of adrenaline made her blood vessels jolt in intervals. "They... they found us?" _So quickly? _

"Hm, well, _sure seems like it,"_ Zack hissed, perhaps more than a bit tired with her inability to grasp what he would've thought was, y'know,_ the obvious._ "Hope you're ready to haul ass, girl." He looked over to Gray, "'Care to show us to the back door, Old Man?!"

"They'll be waiting at the rear entrance," Gray replied (ironically, also stating what he'd thought was blatant.) "You'll need to take the trap door under the desk in my study." Rachel's bleary gaze blinked in confusion. The way he'd spoken...

"You're... _staying here_?"

"Are you crazy?!" Zack shouted. "You think an old crossbow's gonna do anything against the shit they're packin' out there?"

"If they focus their efforts of myself, the two of you might be able to flee in haste," explained the reverend, stepping far beyond the younger duo. "Should the Lord decide my grave is best made in his house, then so be it."

The younger boy blinked, not sure he understood. Not about all his crazy religious bullshit, but... "_Why are you__—_?" Gray cut him short, looking back with a stern expression and the tone to match.

"Dear boy," said Gray, "you asked what _sins_ I've stained on my bible—the reasons I must atone," he gave a pause...

Then, shocking both onlookers, the reverend threw his holy text on the stained, vermillion floor. It landed face up, a waft of purple smoke releasing from the book's open page. Ray stumbled back with the awareness to cover her mouth, but Zack stood, flabbergasted at the sight. The nauseatingly sweet aroma grew heavy and impossible to escape.

The boy stumbled, gripping his head.  
He felt dizzy, his chest grew tight.  
In what was the fraction of an instant, but felt like it could've been his own life time...

_It started to make sense.  
_He really _was_ as messed up as the rest of them, wasn't he?

"_You—" _The boy's shaking voice was cut short, as Abraham aimed his bow back in younger's direction.

Suddenly alerted, Rachel shouted, "Wait!" Snapping from his daze, Zack's eyes widened the slightest fraction of confusion, though he showed no sense of fear... that is, until Gray fired an arrow past his head—though the fact itself wasn't cause for anxiety.

His aim was set on the candle at the alter, burning down to the wick. He shot it, sending its fires cascading to the carpet below. They spread at an abnormal and alarming rate; the flame reflected in Zack's yellow, dilated optic. "Shit!" He grit his teeth. "What the hell, Old Man!?"

"Leave now, unless you wish to burn alive." The words taunted Zack fiercely, and he wanted nothing more than to lay the scythe in the bastard's chest that very moment. He lingered in a long moment before his first decision became his final.

"Don't gotta ask me twice," he said, voice dark and low. He looked back to the fires, and then to Rachel. "Let's go, Ray!"

She looked at Zack, then to Gray, then back to Zack. She was sure she'd have done well to avoid the gas, but now, she questioned the fact; she wasn't sure she understood. The girl lingered in the moment of reluctance. "But, the reverend—"

She was cut off by the feeling of a larger palm gripping her petite hand. "If he wants to dig his own grave, he shouldn't've employed that kid in his suicide tower!" He pulled her along, not giving her a choice. Rachel looked over her shoulder to the sight of Reverend Gray approaching the chapel doors with his bow in hand. And then, with that final look, she turned away, _never_ gazing back.

Beyond the roaring flames, she could've sworn she'd heard his voice once more.  
_"Atone, Rachel Gardner."_


	3. It Still Has To Be You

Chapter Two: It Still Has To Be You

They made their way to the escape door in his study; it was a long tunnel leading them out the surrounding wood. Ray didn't need to think critically, to ascertain why he'd likely had a trap door.

Emerging to the surface, they caught the scent of that sweet, nauseating aroma again. Having just been exposed to Father Gray's hallucinogenic, Rachel was hit was an alarming realization: that smell was_ quite_ unlike this one. Overwhelmed from all directions, Ray finally realized where she'd recognized it.

It wasn't his drug.  
It was_ gasoline._

"Shit," Zack muttered through gritted teeth, eyes wide. "Fuckin' _psycho_ lit the whole damn _forest_ on fire."

Guess they knew what business he'd been taking care of out back when they'd arrived. A thoughtful gesture in one respect, however mindless in another. It'd give them cover in the worst way possible. Part of her prayed the fire would stay contained, but the drenched brushwood seemed to feel otherwise.

The distant sound of howling hounds echoed over the spreading flame. "Dammit!" _They brought dogs. _Approaching voices shouted something akin to, "_they picked up the trail_," and, "_they were with him_". Instantly, Zack pivoted, grabbing Rachel by the sleeve. Her bandaged wound ached with his less-than gentle nature. "Keep up, Short Stuff!"

As if on cue, Rachel tripped, falling on the ground without a sound. On high alert, Zack cursed under his breath. _Dammit._ He had half a mind to let her sit there and _burn._ But he supposed hypocrites were as bad as liars in their own rights. Against his better judgement, he leaned down, yanking the girl to stand again...

_Saving_ her again, if only simply.

Despite the reverend's sentiments and actions—Rachel had to question if this was another one of his tests or not. Either way, it was certainly turning out to be. For whatever reason, he_ really_ didn't want them to stay. _Why?_

Was he, just... trying to kill them?  
Or... was it the opposite entirely?

As she was one to in situations like this, and despite the chaos rapidly growing around them, Ray's state of mind was oddly absent. In her moment of dissociation, she paused, as if to listen to something that wasn't there...

Wait. _That sounded like..._  
Releasing herself from his hold, her pace picked up in the opposite direction, not lending him so much as a single word of courtesy.

"Hey!" shouted Zack, following regardless, "Where the hell're you—_hey!_" She ignored him. "I'm talkin' ta' you!" Despite his overwhelming protests, she didn't falter in her resolve. "I _said_ slow—!" And then, abruptly, she_ did_ stop. _Unexpectedly_. So much so, in fact, that Zack slammed into her, nearly toppling the both of them over. Thank God Rachel had the foresight to steady herself, as the ground fell at a 90 degree drop off not more than a foot away.

"T-The _hell_ is your problem!?" Zack shouted, "Whadda ya think you're doin'—!"

She cut him off, though only by means inaudible. Her vacant stare was only accompanied by a finger, pointed down in front of her. The sound of rushing water echoed up the crater's edges.

At the bottom was a river.

...Oh,_ hell_ nah.  
"Are you _crazy_!?"

Ray looked up to him, her expression hardly showing a proper reflection of the situation. Her fluorescent blue eyes lit with an orange highlight from the raging flames. "They won't follow us this way."

He shouted in her face. "Just 'cause I don't wanna burn to death doesn't mean I wanna drown either!"

Well, okay.  
"Suit yourself."

Wait. _She wouldn't?_  
"You _little_—"

And then, _she jumped. _

He lunged after her, though only a moment too late. She cascade to the bottom in a flail of blonde and white. _"Dammit, Ray!" _Despite feeling sweat pool thicker at the base of his neck, the sight of the rushing stream didn't look appealing in the slightest—but the heat was getting_ unbearable._ A groan echoed in his throat escalated to a yell.

"Girl, you're gonna get me killed!"  
And then, _of course,_ he jumped after her.

He knifed into the water with a painful splash. The stream was instant in lashing him left to right without mercy; keeping a safe hold on his scythe wasn't easy—but like _hell_ if he was gonna let another go right after he'd gotten a new one. "_Ray!_" he shouted, thrashing about. Zack dove forward, eyes scanning over the waves about his vision. "_Ray!_"

"Zack!" she called back. He steadied himself among the chaos as best he could, trying his damnedest to catch view of her. Just as his sights locked onto a sopping mop of blonde—his concentration broke as he slammed into a befallen branch. He shouted as it was broken in half by the collision. "_Zack!_" a distressed Rachel shouted again.

He coughed up water and bile; "I-I'm fine!" He grit his teeth. "Just—_get your ass over here_!"

Hastily, she tried to paddle his way. The duo fought the current keeping them apart, though Rachel couldn't keep her head above water long. "_I-I_—!" As she was about to submerge once again, an elongated limb reached our; bandaged digits took a firm hold on her wrist.

"Gotcha!" Zack inhaled sharply—but just as things would've seemed as though they'd taken a turn in the duo's favor, Rachel's voice escalated again.

"Z-Zack, _up ahead!_"

His gaze snapped to look down the way; his asymmetric optics widened at the sight of a misted edge over which the rapids plunged._ A waterfall._ "Shit!" he cursed atop his lungs.

_She needed to think;_ her optics jolted about their surroundings. There was so little beyond the relentless white-waters—but she had to come up with something,_ anything!_ How could she, though, when there was only water surrounded by canyon?

_—Wait!  
_"Zack, stick your scythe into the sediment!"

"...The _what?!_" Smaller words, woman! Smaller words!

"The rocks!" she shouted. "Stab it into the rocks!"

His gaze snapped to the gravel-layered wall. "That ain't gonna—!" As the rapids' end grew nearer and nearer, the girl cut him off. It wasn't framed as a demand, but more-so like a metronome to keep him on beat.

"Now!"

_Dammit, Ray!_

A yell of frustration reverberated from his throat as Zack ultimately did what she'd said. He slammed the blade into the earth's wall. They didn't stop... but, interestingly, they_ did_ slow. The edge dragged, chipping parts of the stone from its place; at the very least, it gave Rachel a moment longer to come up with something. Her gaze shot about, landing on a fast approaching branch that protruded from the side.

She reached up, wrapping her free hand around the bark. Instantly, pain shot through her whole body, starting at her healing gunshot wound; trying to support not only the weight of herself, but Zack as well, proved too strenuous. She grit her teeth, but she didn't scream.

For some reason, screaming had always been_ difficult._

Zack's blade busted from the wall, and their only security left was in Rachel's hold. Working up all his strength, he dragged himself against the current by way of her wrist. He reached out to grab the branch in her stead. _Hold on, Ray, just hold on!_

_Almost there—almost there!_

_Snap._

And suddenly, screaming became a lot more natural.

The branch broke in two, sending the duo cascading down the river again. Zack may not have been a quick thinker, but acting on instinct—he yanked Ray full-force towards him. She wrapped herself in his embrace, and they plummeted over the side.

All went_ white._

* * *

A heavy form found itself plastered firmly to the ground of a muddy riverbank. Zack heaved himself to sit up, asymmetric optics pulling open from the weight of a headache.

"Fuckin'—_hell_," he panted heavily. He slipped a hand to the back of his head, pulling down the soaking hood of his jacket. Finding his anger, he grit his teeth. "The_ hell_ were you—!" He cut himself off as he looked around. He realized his only company was his scythe, washed up a few feet away.

"...Ray?"

He dragged himself to his feet, calling out again, "'Ey,_ Ray_!"

No response.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he stood and collected his weapon. A once over from the way they came showed no sign of his partner, and so he treaded the opposite direction along the bank. "'The _hell_ are you?!" he shouted.

Unconsciously, his pace quickened.

Suddenly, as his view scanned along the river—a stained mess of blonde and white was stuck against a fallen branch. She was caught, but he knew he could reach her at least. His heart both calmed and raced in a strange sort of way—but he cursed under his breath regardless. Wasting no time, he set down his scythe, letting his footsteps enter the river again.

"Y-You're—you're fuckin' _crazy,_ girl...!" he hissed; the freezing water rose to his hips by the time he'd reached her in full. An agitated sound reverberated from his throat as he took her by the scruff, breaking her free from the wooden trap she'd been in.

He carried her back to shore with the same kindness, tossing her ragged body to the sandy bank before flopping down next to her. "I—can't _believe_ you just jumped off a _goddamn_ cliff into a _goddamn_ river!" Zack raised his voice—anxious for her to stir... but his hopes were in _vain._

Ray remained face down.

He growled and shoved her with his foot; she rolled to her back, face dirty with the river mud and sand. His eyebrows knit together. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you," his tone had lowered a bit, though not yet without agitation, "_Wake up_."

She didn't.  
He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a shake. "Earth to psycho!"  
_Nothing._

Again, his heart dropped as he realized the situation. He leaned down to listen for her breath, it was hard to though he couldn't quite tell. (To be fair, his concerns were never in securing life, but instead _ending_ it.) In any situation, her form remained still...

_Dammit._

He knew you could make a person breathe again by pushing on their chest, but he'd never done it himself. "_Get up!_" he demanded again. He took her by the shoulders in full, giving her a more stern shake. When she remained unmoving, he jolted her body harder. _And harder._ And harder yet...

Nothing.  
_...Christ._

Reluctant, he put a hesitant hand to the center of her delicate form; awkwardly, he gave her a push. When he got no response, he shifted a bit and tried again. He kept it up for a minute before letting his impatience get too intense. "Wake up already!"

He didn't know what to do. _He didn't know._ He grit his teeth. His hands fell to her shoulders once more, his grip so rough that he lifted her lifeless body in anger before letting her fall limp again.

Alright—_now_, she was just making him _mad._

"I said—!" Raising a clenched palm as he stared at her characteristically _lifeless_ face...  
"Wake _the fuck_ up!"  
He slammed his fist down against her chest.

And instantly, a waterlogged cough echoed in response as she jolted a bit. He blinked in surprise as his heart lifted with relief. Rachel spat an excess water from her throat.

Wow._ Did that really work?_

Interestingly, his outburst wasn't done in hopes of resuscitating her—but rather, simply out of _anger._ Slowly, the girl looked over. "_Zack..._" She couldn't say much more before bursting out in a coughing fit again. Roughly, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to sit up as he smacked her back, _"helping"_ her catch her breath again. A backhanded gesture, all things considered, as he then shouted in her face.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?!"

After a moment, the faintest hint of realization showed on Ray's face as she'd remembered what happened. "We're... alive?" She sounded so surprised, it honestly made Zack angrier. "Did you... _save me_ again?"

"Sure did, _fuck you very much,"_ he replied without missing a beat, sarcasm pouring from his lips louder than the nearby rapids. Her eyebrows knit together slightly, as she said nothing for a moment.

"I'm sorry," was her ultimate and only reply. It wasn't taken as kindly as it was meant. "I wasn't strong enough to—"

"Oh,_ give it a rest,_" he cut her off. "Apologizes don't mean _shit_ if you're tryin'a make a liar out of me, Ray!"

"..._I_—"

"You would've died if I hadn't smacked the sense back into you!" Speaking of, she put a hand to the center of her aching chest. His touch was as gentle as it'd never been. "You nearly killed yourself—and you dragged me along, too!" The regard for her own life was, of course, quickly overlooked, but she felt a strange sort of guilt at the latter half of his statement. "I know you don't care if _you_ die, but _I_ ain't so keen on the idea—you morbid little_ fuck_!"

Sincerity welled in otherwise empty optics. Her actions weren't meant so selfishly, of course, but she hadn't realized how it must've come off to him. After a minute, she tried to give him the explanation she owed.

She exhaled. "I thought, if_ I_ jumped—"

"What—you'd take _me_ down with you?" For someone who looked so innocent, she could be real manipulative without even known it. Rachel looked away in shame. It took her a moment to find the right words.

"We're _finally_ together again," she muttered, "I didn't want you to die."

"Why, 'cause I still haven't killed you yet?" She was_ so_ full of shit. "Well, guess what, Ray. You would've had that covered_ all_ on your own if I hadn't just_ saved_ you ass."

"No." Simply, Ray shook her head. His death had nothing to do with _her_ this time. "In the building, you said—_you didn't want to burn to death,_" she stated simply. "I didn't..._ want that,_" she repeated. "It'd be _so cruel._"

He was taken aback, but it only showed for a brief moment before his expression hardened again. Not letting go of her arm yet, as his grip only tightened. "If you thought the shit in that building was the worst of what was tryin' to kill us—" he yanked her closer, staring directly into her eyes, "you're in for a _wake up call_ out here in the real world."

He released his hold with a light shove. She only stared at the ground like a guilty child as her partner rose to his feet. "You can kill me now, if it'll help you feel better," a morbid sort of sincerity accompanied her tone. She still wasn't quite done thinking yet, but the least she could do was offer.

"Nah," Zack muttered, clearly grumpy and not in the mood. "Just—help me find a place to dry off, 'kay?"

Obediently, Ray nodded, standing to follow at a comfortable distance.

* * *

They followed the stream down river; it wasn't long until they came to a highway overpass. Ray explained that if they kept with it, there'd probably be some sort of oasis or refueling station along the way. Sure enough, a few hours walk had led them to a mucky Shell gas station.

By the time they'd got there, the sun was setting to afternoon twilight. Almost ironically, while their clothes were already nearly dry— the unsightly image of dark clouds eclipsed the distant horizon.

"I think it'd be best if you stayed out here," she said bluntly.

"What, you gonna rob the place yourself?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're like,_ ten."_

_Almost fourteen, but okay._ "We need to lay low for now. I'll be quiet—they won't even know I'm there."

Despite how chaotic their dip in the river had been, at least the blood had been washed from their clothes. Regardless, her bandaged wound was still visible. "You're really just gonna_ walk_ in like that?"

It was true, the last thing they needed was anyone questioning her. Ray shrugged. "I could wear your hoodie, so no one gets a good look at me."

Zack rolled his eyes, his means of_ resentful_ compliance. He dragged the tab of his jacket down, yanking his sleeves off before tossing it at Ray. It wafted over her head and fell into her hands. "Just_ hurry up,"_ he muttered, "I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you—?"

"_Takin' a piss_, the hell do you think?"

Gazing off towards his retreating form, she hoped no one would spot him. Not because he'd draw attention to himself necessarily, but because... he clearly wasn't comfortable without his jacket. Only his_ bandages_ were left to cover his burns. Regardless, she looked down to the garment in her arms, then sliding it over her shoulders.

_...Huh._

Ray closed her eyes, wrapping herself in his indirect embrace. Until now, she hadn't realized how _cold_ she'd been. It was almost summer, even, wasn't it? She pulled the hood up to cover her head.

After a moment, the loud jostling of a gas nozzle echoed in the otherwise empty lot. Nearby, a young woman stood at a gas pump. She was pretty; she had dirty blonde hair and a trendy outfit—she looked to be around Zack's age. The cogs turned in Rachel's mind.

_That'd be her cover._

If possible, she'd sneak behind when the woman went in to pay—so the store bell would only chime once. If she was spotted, maybe the cashier would just assume she was her child. If nothing else... she'd just grab what they needed and run.

After the woman was done pumping her gas, Ray followed behind at a distance. If the older girl noticed, she payed her little mind. Effortlessly, she'd gone unnoticed; her plan worked.

Perhaps a little _too_ well, she'd soon realize.

Ray shifted to hide, the distant sound of voices hummed behind the sound of a TV; it was mounted on the wall. She wasn't listening close, but she could tell the channel was set in some sort of news station in how the buzzwords hit her ears perfect. _"Back Alley Murderer,"_ beyond the rest.

"Ya hear they're sayin' they think that escaped serial killer's hangin' out in the woods 'round here?" said the person behind the counter. His voice was low and gravely; Rachel thought he might've been a smoker. She peeked to get a look at him. He was an older man, probably in his early fifties—looking unkempt, and, for lack of a better term_, greasy._

"Oh, really? That's... that's scary," the woman replied absently, she seemed distracted digging in her purse. _Good,_ thought Rachel,_ keep him distracted. _Ray made her way to the coolers in the back. Quietly as possible, she opened the large doors just a crack to grab a few large bottles of water. Something else caught her eye before she closed it in full.

Soda.  
Zack liked soda.

She wasn't sure she remembered the exact brand, but she knew it was a dark soda. She grabbed a few brightly packaged bottles; her hands were already getting full. She didn't know if they'd have cereal, but he also liked chips, _and—_

"Hey, what are you doing?"  
She froze in place. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.  
...But _no one_ was there?

"H-Hey—!" the voice called again—it was a woman's voice, one not directed her way.

Silent as a mouse, Ray again peeked around the corner of the shelf. "You said you forgot your wallet, but you come walkin' in here dressed like _that_?" the man behind the counter replied. Ray's gaze narrowed in as the woman was awkwardly hunched forward; he'd grabbed her by the wrist.

"J-Just—let me run out to my car and see if I can find it!" A weak attempt at getting away from him, and he didn't fall for it.

"Yeah, why don't_ we_ go and check?" He withheld a dark glint in his eye; despite his clearly sinister and threatening demeanor, his was _markedly_ different than any expression Zack had ever shown.

Alerted, Ray took a few steps back to stay firmly out of sight. Terror reflected in the woman's eyes. "Hey,_ stop—_" Her breath hitched as the man made his way around the counter, never releasing her from his hold. "_Stop!_" —But he _didn't._

She started struggling and whining—and when he didn't let go, her other fist slammed freely against his jaw. At that, he stopped trying to coerce her... though only for a_ moment._

Swift, he pulled a hand from his pocket she hadn't even realized he'd been keeping. The echoes of a switchblade releasing filled the air. "You wanna play that way?" A smirk followed the blade drawing closer to her neck. "Then why don't we take this _outside?_" Tears welled in the woman's eyes as she froze. "Sure hope that _escaped convict_ ain't out back waitin' for us. That'd be a _real shame,_ eh?"

_Both Ray and the woman took his meaning._

He released her arm only to tear his hand through her locks and grab her by the hair. Her screams were muffled as he neutralized her, taking her towards the back door.

And then...  
_Rachel was alone._

She looked down at the articles in her arms, then to the nearby rack. She reached out, however over-encumbered, grabbing a large bag of potato chips. Then she turned towards the entrance.

That woman really had been... the _perfect_ distraction. It was as if God himself had brought her here at this exact moment.

At least... she'd go out helping a little girl, _right?_  
The worst little girl possible, though.  
That..._ didn't_ seem right.

Pushing open the heavy door, the shifting of footsteps signaled at her side. Zack emerged from the overhang shadows; she hadn't seen him until he made himself known. "That was fast," he noted, sounding almost impressed. He looked at the items in her arms—seeming even more surprised.

"I got you soda," she said quietly, motioning slightly.

"Well, don't mind if I_ do,_" he gave a bright smirk, grabbing a bottle from her, unscrewing the top, and chugging its contents. Despite having appeased him, Ray's mind didn't linger in the moment. She could only think on the incident she'd just witnessed.

That woman... was going to _die_. And who _knows_ what he was going to do to her before that. Then he'd probably toss her in the river, and go about his life _Scott Free._ Undoubtedly, just like he wanted, her death would be blamed on the recently escaped _serial killer._

The_ Back Alley Murderer._

She looked over to Zack, and as she did—quite like many times before...  
A euphoric ringing echoed in her ears; the sound of an_ epiphany._

* * *

_Atone, Rachel Gardner._

* * *

"Hey, Zack?" she said after a moment.

Rachel's tiny voice was almost inaudible in his ears as he finished downing the carbonated beverage. "Huh?" He tossed the bottle on the ground.

"I," she trailed off, "I have a question."

_Ugh. _He swore, if this was about killing her again—he'd snap her neck. "What is it?" he sighed.

"There's..." she exhaled, "there's a man and a woman out back," Ray explained slowly.

_Huh._ Not what he'd expected. The boy raised a bandaged brow. "_And_?"

She didn't look up. "Will you..." her sentence slowed to a stop. "Will,_ you_—"

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with her vacant, wishy-washy rambling. "_Spit it out_ already." After a moment, Ray cranked back her neck to look at Zack in full. Her stark, azure gaze stared dead in his lively golden eyes.

_"Will you kill the man?"_

Zack was almost awe-struck. He'd only seen her this serious a handful of times; he echoed a light expression of surprise. "_What?"_

"Will you kill the man?" she repeated simply.

Zack narrowed his eyes. She was... asking him to _kill someone?_ (Well, besides _herself,_ of course.) "_Why?_" he asked, almost incredulously.

She only shrugged, as though it were nothing. "He's going to kill the woman if you don't," her explanation was blunt and true.

Beyond confused, he let out a single, unhumored laugh. "What, and that matters to_ you?_" He snatched the chips from her and tore open the seal. "Do it_ yourself_, if you care so much."

She paused.  
_"I can't."_

A skeptical look. "And_ why_ not?"

She looked down at the bottles in her arms, then to Zack's signature weapon. "I don't have your knife anymore." And certainly, his scythe was too heavy.

Zack shoved a handful of chips between his lips, speaking with his mouth full. "Hm. Sounds like an_ excuse_ to me."

Downtrodden, the little girl looked at her feet. "I... don't want him to kill me. I want _you_ to kill me."

A passive answer, one not entirely untrue. She almost felt bad, though, as she knew it was better if she was fully honest with him. Were half-truth's also _lies,_ in the lord's eye? (They probably were, in those gold and asymmetric.) Slowly, Zack stopped crunching on his chips. He gave her a look of annoyance—as he knew full-well that Ray was more than capable of killing anyone in her way. He'd seen it, and nearly _experienced _it.

But, for whatever reason, she didn't want to do it herself.

An agitated noise reverberated from his lungs and hit the air; he shoved the bag of chips back to Rachel and she stumbled a bit from his force._ "Fine,"_ dusting the crumbs off his hands, he picked up his scythe, "but I hope you realize the _bitch_ is dying, too."

"No," Ray shook her head. "Just the man."

Zack looked at her as though she'd just said something ridiculous. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me?" he laughed.

"If you're going to do it, just kill the man, please," she repeated.

"_Y"know_," Zack hauled his blade over his shoulder, "I thought we talked about the whole '_tellin' me what to do_' thing?" She gave him a dead-eyed, however sincere look—to which Zack paused for a moment to observe her. That expression on her face was as lifeless as it's always been... and yet, it sent a jolt of agitation creeping down his neck.

"Will you do this as a _favor,_ then, Zack? Please?"

Geez.  
That pathetic look on her face was so _boring_ and _empty_—it _really_ made him want to kill someone.  
Someone_ else, _that was.

Ultimately, he_ obediently_ agreed.

"Fuckin'—_fine_, whatever." He turned away, treading towards the back of the building; Ray followed at a distance. He uttered a slight beneath his breath after a moment. "What—want me to tie your fuckin' _shoes_ for you next?" _She was such a chore._ "Let's just make this fast."

"Thank you," she said politely.

After a moment, the duo stood behind a nearby dumpster. By the time they'd gotten around back, the gas station manager had shoved the girl against the wall; he was tearing at her clothes as she cried and screamed with his switchblade to her neck. She pleaded for him to stop, but he didn't. Rachel only stared vacantly, expression more distant than normal.

For some reason, in that moment, she could feel the touch of Doctor Danny's hands shoving her down on the operating table, _dangling_ his tongue on her face, riding his knee between her legs as he_ bore_ into her eyes. She wondered how long it would've taken for _him_—should she have chosen to stay by his side like he wanted...

_But that was different._

This girl being attacked... she feared death. It was so far from her.  
She'd _never_ killed anyone, she never would. Rachel could tell; she'd even _bet_ on it.  
After all, most people hadn't.

Ergo, she, _unlike Rachel,_ didn't deserve such a punishment.

"Looks like he's got a knife. Just stay here and I'll—" Zack looked to his side—and there was a distinct absence of his partner. She was... _walking right towards them._ "_Hey_!" he exclaimed, voice not much louder than a whisper.

_Too late._ Her dragging footsteps echoed on the pavement, it signaled the attention of both the girl and her attacker. "_Huh_?" the man grunted.

"H-help!" the woman called the moment she saw Rachel. "Please, _help me!_"

A dark glare was shot in Ray's direction. "_Beat it,_ Kid," the man hissed in a threatening manner. "Forget you saw anything, and _never_ come back."

Rachel disregarded him, speaking blankly. "Stop. _Right now._" Overhead, a single droplet of rain drifted down from the gray sky, landing on the top of her hair. "This is your only chance." After a moment of surprise, the man burst out in laughter. _Clearly,_ he hadn't expected such a reaction from the little girl. Dropping his hold on the woman, she screamed and squirmed back, too terrified to move in full.

"Is that right?"  
"_Three,"_ Rachel began to count.  
It made him laugh. "You got some _real guts,_ Kid."  
Disregard. "_Two._"  
"Gotta say, I like that in _a woman_." The vile words fell from his lips like poison. "Didn't think I'd be doing_ two for one_ toda—"

He stopped _mid-sentence._

Slow, heavy footsteps echoed out from behind the dumpster. The assailants eyes filled with terror as his gaze locked on the _crescent edge_ stained with blood. Ray didn't so much as flinch, or need to turn around. She knew that behind her now stood the infamous_ Back Alley Murderer_—his shadow and figure cascading tall above hers.

"One."

And then, the air filled with impish, wild laughter. Before the man could even react, Zack's bloodlust grew satiated with a fell leap and swing. The blade of his scythe swept through the man's torso and his gaze went red. Too bad for him, he looked a little_ too_ happy about the prospect of having sex with a kid, and, of course, anyone who knew Zack's MO could tell how deeply the man had sealed his own fate because of it. Crimson liquid _spattered_ over his pristine bandaging, and _God_—did he _revel_ in it.

A terrified _screech_ echoed across the way as the fallen woman scrambled to her feet. Screaming for dear life, she ran in the opposite direction, undoubtedly back to her car. Doing what few could ever say they managed, she'd fled from the Back Alley Murderer.

Above, raindrops grew more rapid as they fell to the world below—mixing with the gooey red substance now caking the back parking lot.

Rachel gave nothing more than a blank expression as she looked on while Zack repeatedly plunged the pointed edge into the corpse. A strange sort of relief washed over her with the rain. There were few things that could pull him from moments as_ precious_ as these, but what Ray would next say certainly caught his attention.

_"Atone."_

Gripping the metallic bar at peak swing, Zack paused. He looked over his shoulder. "'Scuse me...?"

"'_Atone, Rachel Gardner_'," she repeated. "That's what Reverend Gray said to me."

"No offense, but," he looked to his scythe out of the corner of his vision, then back to her, "now's not really the best time for you to be spoutin' all'a that bullshit."

Transfixed, she disregarded him. "Do you know what this_ means_, Zack?" she said, her tone a bit more in-the-moment than usual.

Blinking absently, he could only reply with the truth, "Uh, no?"

"That woman would've_ died_," she took a few steps in his direction, kneeling down in front of him, "if I hadn't asked you to_ kill_ this man."

Zack raised an eyebrow, beyond confused—slamming his scythe down in the battered chest, ultimately. "_So?_" Her fingertips traced the blood leaking in a puddle around the corpse.

"I've killed... _seven _people." A twinge in her voice echoed above the rain. The boy's brow knit together; she was keeping track? "But, now," she looked up to Zack, "_we've just saved one_."

Afraid he was understanding her meaning, he dared to inquire farther. "The _hell_ ya tryin'a say?"

"That _I,_" a pause, "_I, want_..."  
_She was silent._

But Zack knew what she meant completely.  
"Ya gotta be fuckin'_ kiddin'_ me, Ray."

She looked up to him quickly, eyes somehow both dead and distressed. "I—"

He motioned to the mangled, lifeless corpse they both hovered over. "You can't _seriously_ think that this shit's gettin' you a one way ticket to salvation or some shit?!"

"We did what _needed_ to be done," she protested quickly, though her voice remained somehow monotone. For as dull Zack claimed to be, he certainly wasn't blind. "He would've killed her, _you_ know it as well as I do." —If not_ better._

He couldn't help but wonder, truly, from the bottom of his heart—how the _hell_ did this girl get crazier by the minute? "Do you even hear yourself?" he spat... _but he didn't deny what she'd claimed._ "We literally just _killed_ a guy!"

"It wasn't about killing _him,_" she explained. "It was about saving_ her._"

He couldn't believe what she was saying.  
"Wasn't _killin' people_—playin' God's _bitch_—what got you in this situation in the first place?"

"_This_ isn't like that!" she said sternly. "I wasn't passing judgement on the sins this man's committed!" She wasn't claiming a false divine verdict like she did with the people on her floor. You could know she was telling the truth, because she had no selfish intention of sewing him _back together._ "I did it to _stop_ what he was going to do!"

Rain wafted all around them, yet somehow, the puddle stained her pristine white dress the brightest shade of red even still. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes. Her bloodied hands unconsciously met at chest level. Her pulse raced, landing on the same answer as before.

"We saved an _innocent life_, Zack. God can _forgive_ me for that."

_Dear Lord in Heaven, please look beyond my past and sins. Please, allow me to save others, and let me be saved. Please, please—_

Just then, her prayers were cut short by a firm hand grasping her neck. She gasped as her eyes snapped open to the sight of Zack visage in shadow. He wasted no time in slamming her against the ground, hovering over her now as he pinned her down. In his other hand, he'd taken the dead man's weapon; he held it to the base of her throat.

_Do you want this, Ray? Do you really want this?_  
"Zack."

_Cry, then. Cry if you really wanna live, if you wanna "save" anyone._  
"I don't know if it'll work."

_If you really want something, act like it, dammit!_  
"I just want to try."

_Please—make this easy for me._

"Because, either way," a crystal sonance echoed in her ear; even if she could atone—_nothing_ would ever change the fact that she didn't deserve to _live..._

"_I still need you to kill me._"

The shadow over his visage retracted only a bit, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his asymmetric optics. Her azure gaze lent him a look of understanding.

"_Please,_ Zack."

She reached up, gently nudging the blade to the side. Her fingertips drifted to his bandage cheek. His breath hitched; her touch _burned_ like the coals of a fire. It was like time had stopped around them, all seemed to cease, the moment was unmoving.

He had no idea how she could so easily justify whatever she wanted, all in that _fucked-up_ mind of hers.

"You really stop at nothing to get what you want, _do you_?" Releasing his hand from her throat, his palm slid from her skin, past her shoulder; he propped himself up above her yet. "If you wanna go on some backwards redemption quest in the name of your so-called God, _be my guest_," his next slight came out as a mutter, "You still look like a lifeless doll, anyway."

Her expression, almost ironically, lit with a certain _hopefulness. _

"And if you don't wanna risk gettin' your precious little hands even dirtier, then I don't mind doin' the fun part."

He could see it, her _reluctance_ despite her ideals. That's why she asked _him_—the _hobbyist_ on the matter. And, given his agenda, he supposed it didn't much matter regardless. "_Zack,_" she exhaled his name, a strange sort of relief and gratitude in her voice.

A dark glint sparkled in his eye. Still propping himself up over the girl, never removing his golden gaze from hers, raindrops slid from the wet tendrils of his hair to her face. "And then, after _all this_ is over..." It was a moment, but Ray took his meaning. Her empty heart welled with something distant—her palm unmoving from his cheek.

_"It still has to be you."_

"As long as you smile," a soft smirk appeared on his visage with their vow renewed, "_it will be._"


	4. Ready to Kill

Chapter Three: Ready to Kill

"A'ight, _psycho_. If we're doing this, we're gonna set down some ground rules, capisce?"

The duo found themselves on the road again, late that same night. They were natural in stealing not only a surplus of necessities from the gas station, but the dead man's wallet and car, too. They drained the cash from his bank account at the ATM, then made their way on. As Ray sat with a blank stare in the passengers seat, she looked over to the man at the wheel with an obedient nod. "Rule number one's simple: just like before—no dyin' before I can kill you."

Again, Ray nodded. Simple enough. "Understood."

"Next—_you_ do the thinkin'," he pointed at her, then to himself, "but _I_ call the shots. Got it?"

She had a feeling those two things might often overlap, but she didn't rival his word. "Yes."

"And last, _no_—"

"—No lying," she finished his sentiment.

He was caught between a sense of entertainment and annoyance. He lent her a humored smirk. "_Good._ You haven't forgot." (Not that he expected her to.) "If you can remember those three things, this'll work out just fine." As they both felt gratified with the terms, Ray turned to face forward once more.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

Zack shrugged, ushering a "_psh_" from his lips. "Hell if I know honestly," he replied, "but we ain't gonna find many more killers in the middle of the forest."

"Fair enough," she supposed. Well, he said that, yet they were hanging around, weren't they? Regardless, what he was saying was—_they had to seek out their prey._

"Used to be a city around here. Can't quiet remember the name," the young man tossed the roadmap to Ray. It whacked her in the face before falling in her lap. "Check for me, will ya?"

She looked down at the paper, matching the highway number with the one they traveled. Following the road, the name of a city parted off from an exit, and it seemed to resonate with Ray for some reason. She felt her heart skip a beat and her gaze widened a bit.

"[REDACTED]."

Zack seemed to notice her shift in tone. He peered over to her, out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, that was it," he said. "What—ya heard of it?" Ray was silent for a moment.

"Yeah," she answered simply. "It's where I was born."

_Oh,_ thought Zack. Well, it'd make sense. If that's where the preacher found him—it only be logical that Ray was nearby, too. Overlapping whatever hesitation the girl might've been feeling about the fact, he carried on. "Kind of a shithole, ain't it?" he laughed. "Nothin' but a bunch of _drunks_ and_ whores._"

Ultimately, Rachel only shrugged. "I... can't really say. My parents didn't let me go out a lot." She'd have to walk a half a mile to get there anyway, as they lived in the town's suburban countryside. And... even when they did let her leave—she usually ended up getting in trouble. Something about the fact resonated with Zack, but he didn't linger on it.

"Well, if you're serious about this, you're gonna see first hand."

"I am serious," she replied, curt.

"Sure hope so," he told her, "'cause it's where I use to do most of my killings. And if _I_ was hangin' around—ya_ know_ it's a bad place." She didn't deny the fact. After all, who better to find a killer than a killer himself? "Just remember the rules."

For better or worse, "I will."

* * *

While they weren't far from the city, it took some level-headed navigation on Ray's part for the duo to arrive. (Once Zack finally made the right exit and didn't have to keep turning around, it was smooth sailing.) They parked a ways off and walked the remaining gap to keep their trail subtle. "Welcome to the scummiest town imaginable, on this _bitch of an earth._"

The buildings were tall and nearly all Victorian in style. The way they towered almost seemed to curve with height; it was a good thing she wasn't claustrophobic. "We should lay low durning the daylight hours," Ray told him. He only rolled his eyes.

"No _shit,_ Sherlock." He have her a light whack in the back of the head. "Y'think this is my first rodeo?"

She brushed his mood off, nonchalant. Ray looked left to right, eyes scanning for their next plan of action. "Where did you usually stay when you were here?"

"Where do ya think?" he huffed a laugh, putting his hand out as if his presence were grand. "It's in the name, Kiddo."

_Right._ "The alleyways."

Rachel looked down at her bare feet and blood-tinged attire. Her hair was matted and messy from the rain—and not the least of all, her shoulder wound hardly held up the dressing he'd administered the day prior. But, of course, she didn't complain. "I'm guessing that ain't gonna work as well for you, though," he said, much to Ray's surprise. "We'll get a motel for the night."

She was quick to protest. "No,_ I'm_—"

"I ain't askin'," he cut her off preemptively.

Ray looked off to the side; while she appreciated the sentiment, she couldn't help but feel reluctant as well. "We shouldn't risk getting noticed."

"Psh, ain't no one gonna think twice if it's just _you_ that goes in," he waved his hand as if to brush away her reasonable concern. "Just use that innocent, _conniving_ little face of yours and it'll be a piece of cake." Ray gave an exhale—but she assumed this was one of those times he was talking about, where he "called the shots". And... truth be told, after the day they had, it's be nice to have a roof over their heads, even if it was for just one night.

"Alright," she replied, and Zack gave an eager, agreeable smile.

* * *

Standing outside a ramshack reception building, the hotel was lined with a complex of rooms; the doors were open air, lucky for them. Ray looked down, still reluctant. Regardless of the _questionable_ credibility of the establishment... she was still a little girl.

"What if they ask about my parents?"

Zack gave a smirk, amusing himself. "You could tell 'em ya killed 'em"?"

Ray looked back with a _deadpan_ stare.

He rolled his eyes. "Just tell 'em they're out drinkin' and they'll come back later! They ain't gonna care." She needed to stop giving this city so much _credit._ "It'll be fine—here." He took out the gas station manager's wallet out from his pocket; he handed her the man's ID and a hundred-dollar-bill. "Just show 'em this and say it's your dad."

Ray looked down at the card, to the sign on the front door, then back to Zack. "It says 'no shirt, no shoes, no service.'"

He tilted his head, of course, never having heard of such a thing. He almost though she was making it up. Regardless, he exhaled a growl of agitation, kneeling down and taking his boots off. He threw them in front of her. First the hoodie, _now the shoes._ What's next? (Well, he'd also given her his wraps, come to think of it.) "You're a _real_ pain sometimes, y'know that?"

_She was well aware._

Stepping into his much larger boots, she pulled the hood of his jacket up and over her head. "I'll be quick," she said—clunky, uncoordinated footsteps following with irony. She'd better be, he thought, 'cause he swore to _fuck_, if he stepped in a puddle without his shoes on, _so help her God—_

Ray entered the front door. At the reception desk sat an woman who looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her messy up-do reminded Rachel of her mother; her makeup wasn't very..._ well-practiced._ She didn't even look up as the door chimed, only staring at her phone yet without a care for the world around her.

"Excuse me," Ray said softly, "I'd like a room, please."

Hardly missing a beat, the woman ushered a lazy reply, "How many beds?"

Rachel blinked in surprise as the receptionist showed no interest in questioning her. "Huh?"

"Beds," she repeated, smacking her gum loudly between her words. "Sixty bucks for one, hundred and ten for two."

Ray looked down at the hundred-dollar-bill in her hands. She supposed the decision made itself. The girl put her cash on the counter. "Just one." There was a small nagging in the back of her mind that said Zack _wouldn't_ be happy about it, but at least they saved money this way.

With a heavy sigh of inconvenience, the woman finally looked away from her phone and stood. Ray lowered her hooded head, shielding her face a bit more, but the receptionist didn't so much as bat an eye. It was... _quickly_ become apparent to Ray—that this woman learned better than to ask questions of her customers business; she hadn't even inquired about her family, or an ID. She didn't even seem surprised about the time of night.

Getting back her change from the register, the receptionist took a key from the rack behind her before placing it on the counter in front of Rachel. "Room C7," she said simply. Muttering something that sounded similar to "_enjoy your stay_", the woman flipped right back to her phone. Without another word, Ray took the articles, turning and walking back out. _Huh._

"Well?" a voice called. She turned to see Zack approaching from the evening shadows.

Holding up the key, she replied simply, "Room C7."

"Psh, what'd I tell ya?" He gave her a rough pat on the back. "_Nothin'_ to worry about."

The faintest sense of relief showed on her face in reply.  
_Maybe she should listen Zack more often._

* * *

As one might expect—their room was as seedy and ramshack as the main office. "I'm gonna shower," Zack said the moment they stepped in the door, settling his scythe against the corner—turning to the small bathroom to the left of the entrance. Rachel looked back over her shoulder at him; she almost felt relieved he hadn't noticed the room otherwise.

"Wait," she said. Reaching into the plastic bag she held, Rachel pulled out a roll of medical wrap they'd taken from the gas station and a tube of Neosporin. "_Here._" She held it out to him—Zack blinked in surprise for a moment, as he hadn't realized she'd grabbed it. Silently, he took it from her, then closed the door behind him.

Alone, Ray gazed back to the room. It smelled strong of smoke, the blinds were tattered on the edges. The blankets looked thin, and Ray didn't even _want_ to question how long it must've been since the sheet were washed. It was certainly better than sleeping on the floor though—as Ray had already decided she'd be doing.

She put down her bag, then taking off Zack's hoodie and boots before placing them on the bed. Walking over to the window, she pulled the curtains, getting a wonderful view of the back parking lot. The girl exhaled a deep sigh through her nose; instinctively, her gaze drifted upwards, to the moon. It wasn't full anymore—but it was still _pretty._

Rachel took a step back, settling to her knees as the window's silhouette poured in a large block of illumination. The stars were drowned out by the city's light pollution, but the moon lit the room fluorescent all on its own. She shifted to lay down, the carpet was nearly hard as stone. But at least it wasn't a car.

_At least it wasn't the her bed back at the mental ward._

That fact alone made her eyelids grow heavier. Before long, her consciousness grew dim—hardly disturbed by the sound of the creaky bathroom door opening. An overwhelming waft of steam followed Zack as he entered back into the main room. He'd changed his bandages, remarkably less dim in shade considering the fact, and his shower; it was a rare occurrence for him to... not be covered in dirt and blood. Despite his efforts, however, he put his dirty jeans back on. Running a towel through his hair, he paused in realization, staring down at the floor.

Needless to say, he was _surprised_ by the sight of Rachel's petite form curled up in the moonlight.

He gazed back over to the single mattress, realizing the situation. A twinge of annoyance flicked the back of his mind; _couldn't she have gotten two beds?_ Didn't they get a hotel exactly for this reason—so she didn't have to sleep on the _ground_? He wondered for a moment, if he should wake her up and tell her to lay down properly. After a second, he decided against it; like _hell_ if he was gonna solve all her problems for her.

Slipping his hoodie back on, he looked at the comforter for a second. Then away. Then back at it again... ultimately heaving a _heavy_ sigh in annoyance.

Yanking the blanket off the bed, he threw it over her—letting it drift down atop Ray's sleeping form. But they was it. _She didn't get a pillow._ Flopping down on the exposed mattress with his arms resting behind his head, he closed his eyes.

He had to say—keeping her around really _was_ a nuisance.  
But, at least... it gave him an excuse to sleep in an actual bed for once.

* * *

The next evening, twilight sun cast ray's on Zack's closed lids. He rubbed his eyes, the start of a headache pulsing in the back of his skull. The light, however, wasn't quite the reason he was awoken. The agitation of static echoed among the soft hum of the cable television. A news station.

Holding the remote, Rachel sat on the floor, staring up at the screen.

"Yesterday evening, May 21st, around 7P.M., fifty-three-year-old William Sefton was found dead behind a Shell gas station he'd been managing, just off Highway 164. Police have ruled the death as a murder, matching the witness testimony on the matter. At 6:45 P.M. the same day, onlooker Laura Watson phoned the authorities, claiming to have seen a gruesome murder."

The scene, previously a newscaster sat in front of a station backdrop—switched to an on-sight spectacle. A reporter stood next to the same woman they'd saved the day prior. "It was terrifying, I-I had just gone in to pay for my gas, and the man behind the counter grabbed me! He wouldn't let me go, then he took me out back and told me he'd kill me if I... if I d-didn't—" the witness's testimonial trailed off.

"How did you escape?" the reported pressed.

Her reply sounded incredulous. "A..._ little girl_ saved me."

"A little girl?"

She nodded. "She... had her hood up, so I couldn't see her face very well, but she seemed_ confused_. I though she... she maybe didn't really know what was happening—but then she told the man to stop. When he didn't, she started counting."

"Then?"

There was a long pause. "Then a man wrapped in bandages walked out from behind her with a scythe. I recognized him instantly—he was... that escaped killer," trauma showed plain on the woman's face. "He... _murdered_ the man who was attacking me."

The screen flashed back to the news reporter. "The killer has been identified as convicted felon Isaac Foster," Zack's mugshot appeared on the screen, placed beside Ray's. "While unconfirmed, it's to be assumed the young woman with him was thirteen-year-old Rachel Gardner—who'd been kidnapped by the killer for a second time the day prior. Foster's motives and location are still unknown."

A detective (presumably,) was next shown on screen; behind him was the same gas station they'd been at yesterday—however enclosed with yellow hazard tape. "What can you tell us about the situation?" The accompanying reporter held a microphone out to the man.

"We can't say much for sure at this point," the detective put a hand to his chin, "but we think Foster must be keeping Rachel Gardner alive to do his bidding."

Half awake, Zack let out an unhumored "tch." _As if._ The sounds of static dissipating echoed; Ray shut off the TV. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing the receptionist hadn't asked to see an ID—as the news of their work had made nearly every station Rachel checked.

"They didn't even mention what that man was going to do if we didn't stop him."

Zack forced himself to sit up, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Welcome to the media, kid." Certainly not the first time public reporting had slandered his same (...but maybe the first time where it was_ unrightfully_ so.) Rachel stood, tinged by resentment—but she didn't let it linger. _Oh well,_ she though. As long as God knew the truth, that's all she needed.

"It'll be dark soon." The young woman looked back to Zack. "Have you rested well enough?"

"Woulda been better if ya hadn't woke me up with that racket, but yeah." Rachel made a mental note that Zack, in fact, was _not_ a morning person.

Ray walked over to the nearby window, peeking out the blinds. "I was thinking we should get a few things tonight. Before we decide what to do next."

He sure hoped she meant cereal.  
"I hope you mean cereal."  
Listen, homeboy just _really_ liked cereal.

"Sure," she said nonchalantly, "but we should also look for new clothes." The girl's gaze dropped down to her feet, covered in blood and dirt. "I need shoes, too."

"Well, don't know about all'a that," he replied, stretching a bit, "but I can tell you what you're gonna need." Ray tilted her head curiously. "A new weapon." Her reply caught him off guard, helping him awaken a bit more, if nothing else.

"I already have one."

Zack raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said you left my knife back at the loony bin?"

"I did," she muttered.

Truthfully, she felt a strange sort of sadness—_regret,_ maybe, in having done so. But, _to be fair,_ she didn't think she'd be needing it. Admittedly, even now, since she and Zack were together again, she knew she'd be safe. She didn't have to worry about dying before he could kill her. But, even so...

After a moment, Ray turned back, preemptively holding the new article in her hand. It was the pocket knife they'd then from the man they killed the day before. Zack grinned. "Kill a man, steal his switchblade. Now _that's_ what I call sticking the knife in and twisting it," he snorted. "You really_ are_ ready for this, eh?"

"Yes," she said, simple and confident. An amused grin showed as Zack's face, as his visage reflected off the sharp mirror's edge.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're_ lookin' forward_ to it."

* * *

The night was dim in the deep alley. Rachel couldn't see well through the lense of darkness—but Zack seemed to fair just fine. She assumed she'd get to his point, eventually.

The rummaging of a hand in a cereal box grated in Rachel's ear, followed by loud, obnoxious crunching. "Don't know where you think were gonna find clothes in a place like this," he gestured to the surrounding walls with full hands, "but I'm pretty sure you're_ outta luck_."

She wasn't_ baseless_ in her logic. "Just give me a second," what would've otherwise sounded like an express of agitation from anyone else came out as a humble request from Rachel's lips. Her gaze panned around as she lingered. She squinted, as, again, it was hard to see—but as she'd presumed, looking up, the sight of dangling clothes lines threaded between the two close-knit buildings.

"Well," Zack huffed a laugh in surprise. Scooping a last handful of cereal in his mouth, he threw the empty box on the ground, patting his sugary hands together. "I'll be damned."

Most of the attire looked to be for demographics outside of her own. Taking a few fast steps forward, she examined the various garments. Finally, a smaller set caught her eye; something about it almost seemed_ familiar_. Taking a step onto the rusting fire exit, Ray scaled to the top.

It was a navy and white pinstripe shirt; luckily, it had a hood. Next to it was a plaid skirt and a pair of black knee-high socks with a lace edge. The midi, Rachel realized, must've been part of a school uniform. That was likely why she recognized it.

Thinking about it, a strange sense_ twisted_ in the pit of her stomach. Despite everything, she felt almost guilty stealing things that weren't hers. Especially from a child her age—a person living a normal life, going to school, spending time with friends... (probably going to church.) You know, things a girl her age _should_ be doing.

Her gaze turned to the nearby window, she had to lean across the rail a bit to get a good look inside, but it was very clearly a teenage girl's room. Ray put her hand on the pane; inside was a nearby desk with a papers sprawled out on top, probably homework. Written on one of essays was a name...

_Malinda Carlisle._

Something about the denomination resonated with Ray. She tried to think of why that might be—but nowadays, she couldn't quite recognize what was true and false, or memory and illusion. Her therapist at the mental hospital told her it was part of her "condition", delirium.

Maybe she heard the name before... but, who knows, _maybe she didn't._

"'Ey, slowpoke! Ya just gonna stare off like an idiot all day, or what?"

Ray looked back down to Zack as he stood with a hand on his hip and an unamused look. "Sorry," she said softly. Looking back to the clothesline, she called down, "It looks like some of these clothes might fit you, too. Should I grab them?"

"I don't care, just make it quick—we ain't got all night!" he shouted up to her.

Alright, well: "Which ones do you want?"

Zack rolled his eyes. "I don't know, just pick somethin'!"

The young woman looked to the various options; it was certainly easier to find something his size. She chose another hoodie, a red one this time (complete with striped sleeves,) and a pair of dark jeans. As she pinched the clothespins off the line, something else caught her eye.

_Oh._  
That'd work, too.

Collecting all the articles, she made her way back down to him. She held out the clothes for him to examine. The hoodie and jeans didn't seem abnormal, but the last garment confused the boy. "What's that?"

"A leather jacket," she said simply. "I thought it'd look good on you."

"_Huh,_" he muttered before taking it. Nonchalant, he shrugged, moving on. "You ready to go, then?"

"Almost." Ray looked at the clothes she held, then back to Zack. "I still need shoes."

He nodded to the ground nearby, gesturing. "How 'bout those ones?" Presumably, at the back door to the same apartment, there were three sets of shoes on the outside mat. The smallest was a simple pair of black boots. She took the set in hand, lifting them bottom-up. The soul read that same name, written in marker: _Carlisle._

Setting them down, she stepped into the boots. They felt a bit small, but better than nothing. She gazed back to Zack with a nod. "Let's get changed, then."

They'd stepped deeper back and around the alley, giving each other proper space by means of a dividing dumpster. After a few moments, a call echoed from the far side.

"How do I look?"

Baring the new outer and the clean hoodie, Zack stepped forward, fashioning his image. Following his example, Ray took a step out and examined him. After a moment, she nodded affirmatively. Just as she thought, he looked natural in a leather jacket.

"_Ready to kill._"


	5. Who Deserves to Die

Chapter Four: Who Deserves to Die

"No," she said, "they don't fit the requirements."

A pair of drunks had walked the nearby, dimly lit street—laughing and giggling about things that probably weren't event funny. Zack was natural to suggest the duo as their next targets—y'know, a _two for one_ deal. Ray quickly shot him down, giving an adamant shake of her head. Zack turned up his nose at that _word_ of hers.

Bitch, _everyone_ fit the "_requirements._"

"Think a couple_ lucky_ housewives might disagree with ya on that one," he rolled his eyes dismissively. "They laugh now, yeah, but the second they get home," a cruel chuckle, "well, _you know_."

Of course, Ray was silent; it was a bit of a low blow—but she wanted to get this done, didn't she? He recalled what he'd seen her recount of her life before the building. Logically, if someone had killed her father before Ray had to—her mother would still be alive, and she wouldn't be in this situation _at all. _

"Your_ old man_ liked t'sip the good stuff, right?" he taunted her. Sure enough, he'd hit the nerve he'd been aiming for; the little girl hesitated before looking down, ultimately walking past him.

"Not always," she finally replied.

He hadn't always been like that. For a long time, he'd been a really reliable, loving provider for their family. The first eleven years of her life were made wonderful near exclusively by him and her mother...

"But at some point, _that changed,_" the man finished knowingly.

She felt her heart swell with a past feeling. Zack had struck a chord with his mention—but she wasn't quite sure why. Was someone like her father really worthy of_ death_, just because he drank to save himself from _pain_?

No. He _couldn't_ have been. He'd just been hurt, spent, and manipulated. People like that didn't deserve to die, they were ill. Alcoholism was a _sickness_, and he needed help. It broke her heart he'd never gotten it.

He killed her mother because he was_ sick,_ not because he was _evil. _

After a moment, Ray gave in to him. "He was... _a police officer_," she explained. She could almost hear Zack rolling his eyes. "His work was stressful on him."

"Wow. Sounds like a_ big excuse,_" Zack replied humorously. "Guess that runs in the family, _eh_?" Part of her knew he was at least half-right, she had no right to feel resentful.

"I just think... we need to be _methodical_ about who we decide to go after," she brought the subject around. He heaved an audible, agitated sigh and sound of annoyance.

"Alright, well," he held out his hands, growing impatient, "I'm_ all ears._" He leaned in a bit, "In your mind, what kind of person '_deserves_' to die?"

Rachel stared vacantly.  
"I..." she hesitated, "_I don't know._"

"C'mon," he pressed, "what kind of _slimy motherfucker_ deserve a swift kick in the shin and a scythe in the lung?" He taunted her, speaking as though he addressed a child, "Your _dear old daddy_ was an officer," he tried to coerce her yet; the answer was obvious—but he doubted she'd be able to understand, "so you must know _aaall_ about 'bad' people, right?"

She looked off to the side, however...  
_She wasn't so sure._

A stern look emanates beneath his bandaged visage. "If you wanna do this—_get serious_," he told her adamantly. Rachel gave a deep exhale...

He was right.  
"_Okay_."

The young woman paced forward slowly, contemplating the fact. She needed to think carefully and critically about the question.

Yesterday's victim was easy, because he was so in-the-moment. It was easy to tell he was the kind of person who needed to die, because they caught him in the act red-handed. Adamantly, she still stood by the notion, however, that such wasn't at all the case with her father. Not in the _slightest._

But... what about the one who _put_ her father in that situation, she wondered?

At first, like she'd said, he'd blamed his drinking on his work. The "bad" people Zack spoke of, those he arrested... were _they_ the ones who made him this way? No, she had to think. All things considered, he seemed to enjoy the authority of his job. In any event, her father and the ones like him took care of those "bad" people.

So... who _was_ the one that hurt him so terribly?

Suddenly, a metallic sonance filled her mind, followed by a flat static tone. Her pulse raced and images flashed like channels on a television set.

That's it.  
The kind of person who really _deserved_ to die.

Herself._  
Rachel Gardner. _

Of course. _A bad person._ Those who targeted the weak, the ill, the spent. The cruel, the conniving, _the predators._

And that was also to say—_others_ like she.

* * *

"Rachel, this is _Travis King._"

A vacant expression showed on her visage, she didn't look directly to him; her gaze was focused on the wall beyond. The man knelt down in front of her, an all-too agreeable smile on his face.

"Hello, Rachel. I used to work with your father."

Rachel's fleeting attention drew to his word. She looked at him; he appeared to be around thirty-years-old. "Mister King here used to work with the police, but now he volunteers to help troubled children find better opportunities for adoption in the big cities," the orphanage owner knelt at her side as well.

He put a palm on Rachel's shoulder; her absent gaze drifted slightly to his hand. "Miss Roberts here tells me that you... _killed a puppy_, then sewed it back together," he said. "_Is that true?_" The girl didn't respond, instead turning her gaze to her lap.

Child adoption volunteer...

That was an interesting career choice for a former police officer. Or at least,_ this_ particular police officer.

"If you want," he said warmly, "you can come with me, and we'll find you a place where you—"

_"No,"_ Rachel cut him off suddenly.

The man, naturally, was caught off guard by her quick rejection. "What?"

Her explanation was blunt: "I don't want to go with you."

The man's eyebrows knit together, clearly displeased. Miss Roberts gave a look of confusion. "_Why not_, Rachel?"

The little girl signaled no response. Rachel's gaze turned away into the distance again. The adults stood, hushed words passing between them; Rachel could get feel the older man's gaze yet set on her, but she didn't acknowledge him.

Back then, she used to wonder what kind of person Mr. King must've been—but now, more than ever, she was certain she realized the person he was.

The kind of person that deserved to die.

* * *

_"King."_

"'...'Scuse me?" Zack said flatly, hand on his hip. She zoned out for a full minute, and that was her only incoherent revelation. "First you call me _God_, now king? Make up you mind,_ freak_."

She paid no mind to his snark. "King. Travis King," she repeated. Zack rolled his eyes. Wow. _That_ sure cleared things up. Could she just make sense for _once_ in her life? "He's a man who used to work with my dad." Zack raised an eyebrow, unsure if he took her meaning correctly. She was blatant: "We'll go after him, first."

He was almost taken aback. Dare he ask: "_Why_ him?" She gave a long pause, never looking away.

"He's like _me._"

But unlike Rachel, he didn't live life with a noose around his neck. Ray had already committed to her own death—but King walked as a free man.

Zack pondered for a moment. "_Huh._" Certainly not the answer he thought she'd give. He wasn't sure he quite understood her thinking (not that he ever did,) but... a man of the law? When he thought about it...

Zack hummed, a _smirk_ appearing beneath his wraps.

He withheld no objections; he didn't need to ask why, how, or if she was certain. If that's who he was, the answer was certain to come back around to a "yes". He was sure—because he couldn't have picked a better candidate, himself.

"_Well, then,_" a dark glint lit in his golden optic, "let's get started."

* * *

In the evenings, after school, she used to sit and watch TV in the living room. She'd wait for her father to get home from work while her mother made dinner in the kitchen. She'd watch cute, animated shows about little kids and their creature companions that'd work together to get stronger—or shows about teenage girls who lived double lives as super heroes.

But today, for some reason, only _static_ played on every station. It was routine, though, so it didn't stop her from the same agenda; if the TV was broken, she'd ask her dad to fix it when he got home, she figured. She just sat there, staring at the fuzzy, black and white screen.

Suddenly, the door flew open with a "_wham_".

Turning her head, Ray looked to see her father. Wasting no time, he pulled his shoes by the tabs, taking them off. Not unlike normal, he looked exhausted, but perhaps more-so than usual, today. His hair looked greasy from sweat, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

"Hi, Dad," she greeted him regardless.

He looked up to her call. The man exhaled a sigh. "Hey, Sweetie."

"How was your day?" she asked him like usual.

He seemed lost in the question for a moment. He chose the safe answer. "_Fine,_" he said simply.

Though Rachel saw right through him. "Oh."

She didn't press him, as she could tell he wasn't much in the mood to converse; he was like this sometimes. As his heavy footsteps treaded by, Rachel caught a strange scent in the back of her nose. She looked to her father out of the corner of his eye; he held something in his hand. A bottle.

Rachel stood, as if to follow—but upon entering the kitchen, her father closed the door behind him with a "_thud._" The little girl stood vacantly. "Hey honey," she heard her mother say distantly. The sound of a dining chair being pulled out echoed on the tile floor. "How was work?"

"_Shit,_" he replied, finally letting out his true, pent-up feelings on the matter. "King's facing suspension."

From beyond the other side of the door, Rachel tilted her head. Travis King—that was her father's trainee, but... he was "_suspended_"? Rachel leaned into the door, putting her ear against the structure. A pause lingered before her mother spoke, sounding almost as though she were in disbelief. "What happened this time?"

"Homeless kid stole a pair of shoes," he explained. "I told Travis to hang back, but when the kid started to run..." he paused, as if recounting the moment, "_he shot_."

"I can't believe it," her mother exhaled. "This is the third time."

"You're tellin' me," her father replied; sounding as though he'd taken another hardy swig from whatever he'd been drinking. A pause lingered before he went on. "They're... callin' me a _liability_ in this one, Maria."

Incredulous, her mother spoke in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

He was reluctant in giving any sort of answer. "I was the one who allowed him to carry this time. They said it was too soon, but I thought he'd be ready."

"Adam," her mother said shakily, "_you told me_—"

"I _know_," he cut her off, harsh and abrupt. "You think I don't _know_, Maria? You this isn't just as stressful on me?"

She scoffed at him comment, brushing off his hostile empathy. Right to business, she had to ask, "Are they gonna cut your paycheck again?"

He paused. "Yeah."

Not what she wanted to hear. "Adam—" she exclaimed, however cut short by an unhumored laugh.

"Maria," he raised his voice, "I watched a twelve-year-old kid get shot dead today. Can you ride my ass about this _another_ time?"

She disregarded him, as if he'd not said anything at all. "How are we gonna pay the house note this month?!" she hissed. "We're already behind on the car from _last_ time!"

"I don't know, Maria—_figure it out!_" Rachel heard a slam, as if he'd slapped his hand on the table. "That's how his works:_ I_ bring home the money, _you_ figure out the bills!" Her mother cursed under her breath between his concerns. "'Cause if you haven't realized, I've got a trigger happy rookie to reel in and the chief of police breathin' down my neck—so I'm kinda busy!"

The sound of liquid clinking around in the bottom of a glass filled the air as he placed the bottle on the table.

"So, _what_?" Maria said simply. "Now you're drinking again?"

"Oh," he huffed, the sound of a chair screeching against the floor echoed, "_screw_ you." Loud footsteps grew closer to the door; Rachel took a step back as her father left the kitchen.

Opening the door, he was caught off guard in seeing the little girl staring up at him with a blank expression. Realizing she'd likely heard all of what had been said, the man looked away guiltily. He said_ nothing_ ultimately, pretending as though she weren't there at all—walking right past her and to the stairs.

"Hey, Dad?" she said before he left the room. A pause built with the surrounding tension.

"What is it, Rachel?"

"The TV isn't working," she said simply, and to his surprise. "Can you fix it?"

He stared off in the opposite direction. She'd heard all of what they'd said, yet... she was still bothering him with something so trivial? As he finally acknowledged her, his tone was clouded with a sense of agitation, like he'd been tasked with an unwanted duty.

"Not today, Honey."

Heavy footsteps heaved up the stairs. Sympathy flooded Rachel's heart, but she... didn't really know how to express it. A simple "_okay_" was all she could muster before sitting back down on the couch.

_Static._

Her father... watched his partner shoot an innocent person today—and not for the first time, it'd seem.

How terrible and weighing it must've been, knowing that blood was partially on his hands; her father rarely drank, so it must've been stressful. His partner, King... what kind of person must he have been, to kill an innocent child? He wasn't like her _father_, that was for sure. Rachel contemplated the fact, staring deep into the snowy screen...

Needless to say, her father _never_ got around to fixing the TV.

* * *

"No."

Zack threw up his hands. "Whaddaya mean _'no'_?!"

"I mean, _no_—we're not going straight to the police station."

"_Pussy_," Zack muttered beneath his breath. She made it sound like a suicide mission; he wasn't suggesting they waltz right in the front door or anything. "Like _you've_ got any better ideas!"

The needed to _find_ King. Ray gave an exhale through her nose; he complained about her lack of strategy, but it was hard to think with him fussing so much. She didn't think they'd find him at the police station, anyway. As she was one to, she took a moment to tune him out—putting two fingers to the side of her temple as she pondered.

"My old orphanage," she finally concluded.

Zack raised a bandaged brow. "What about it?"

"When he got fired as an officer," she explained, "he went to volunteer there." Every Sunday and Wednesday (not that either of them had any earthly idea what day of the week it currently was.) That was also to say, if he was still there—then that was likely enough to _incriminate_ him yet.

Even back then, though her eyes may have been stained by the blood of murder—Rachel wasn't _blind_. She had heard from the other children at the orphanage, how often the "opportunities" program didn't work out so picturesque. Kids were put in harsh situations—often resulting in the worst. They were sent to neglecting homes to be used, abused, and killed. Interesting, how it was only set up for "troubled" children—those like herself.

But as punishable as his actions of the past may have been—Rachel reminded herself of their goal. To _save,_ not to judge. They had to make certain their actions would reflect a difference in the future.

"Tch," Zack spat; the last thing he ever wanted to do was go back to an orphanage. Still thought they should go in guns blazing anyway—instead of creepin' around like a couple of cowards. Ultimately, he just shook his head. "Whatever, _chief_," formerly leaning against the brick wall in the ally, he stood upright, "lead the way."

Ray looked to the nearby street, dimly lit by the overhead lamps. She wasn't sure she remembered the towns layout perfectly, if ever well in the first place, but she had a faint idea of where it was. If they could make it to Main Street, she was certain she'd know the rest of the way.

"Let's take the main roads for now." It was _riskier,_ but she knew it was the only hope they had in finding their way. Not many notable landmarks in the back lanes, unfortunately. The matter wasn't much of a worry to Zack, he shrugged again, slinging his scythe over his shoulder. If anyone tried to talk to them, he'd just...

Well, _you know. _

Peeking around the corner, Ray looked to the left, then the right. The street was empty, the coast was clear. She took a step onto the sidewalk, beneath the street lamp. The low light lit her blonde hair radiantly, making it glow near-golden in shade. It was enough for Zack to finally take notice to her new look as well; he huffed a laugh, giving Ray a once-over.

"You know, you're lookin' _less_ like a ghost." (...But still like a doll.)

"Oh?" she muttered, somehow uninterested. She supposed a hot shower and a fresh set of clothes would do that for a person.

He put a chin to his hand, fashioning a smirk. "Think the look's missing somethin', though." Not that he had any idea about this kind of thing—but, hey. Maybe she needed a leather jacket, too.

The girl gazed down at her form; come to think of it, it been a long time since she'd last looked in a mirror. She supposed that kind of thing didn't really matter for someone like her. Regardless, she took a few steps to stand in front of one of the glass displays, as if to gaze upon her reflection...

Despite everything, a little girl stared back at her _even now. _

Her gaze was drawn from her transparent form as something sparkled distantly in the display window. Realizing what it was, Rachel's eyes widened a bit—her attention more centered now in what she saw. Zack seemed to notice, as well.

"You recognize this place?" he asked.

"I," she hesitated, answering ultimately, "...I don't."

He tilted his head, intrigued. Zack followed her gaze deeper into the window display. Inside was a mannequin adorned with a dark, Victorian-style dress. While extravagant, Rachel didn't quite seem focused on the piece as a whole; knowing her, Zack was quick to realize what had caught her attention in full.

Around the mannequin's neck was a solid black choker, from which a _cross_ pendant dangled.

That's right... she wore one of those things before. He motioned to the window, "What—you like that?" She was unresponsive, but after a moment, gave a single, small nod. "Then go on and take it."

To which Ray was silent before ultimately shaking her head _"no"_. Garments off a clothesline were one thing, but stealing a high dollar item from a store display wasn't as simple as he made it out to be. "Let's... just leave." Despite her emotionless tone, it was easy to tell she was downcast. Ray turned, her slow steps starting down the street...

"I really have to do _everything_ for you, don't I?"

As the final word fell from his bandages lips, Ray pivoted on her heel. Her view was suddenly entertained by sparkling shards and an erratic grin. A lagging tone of shattering glass rang in her ear, only overlapped by the now-resounding store alarm.

Zack had broken the window with the blunt end of his scythe.

Stepping beyond his work, the man extended an arm and took the choker in hand. It was velvet—delicate. With a sly smirk (clearly satisfied with himself,) he held it out to Ray without a word. Her pulse raced with realization of his notion.

The little girl reached forward, placing her smaller digits in his palm—over the necklace. Her hand lingered for a moment, her gaze set on the bandages that held her. "_Zack..._"

Her seemingly absent heart beat faster with an unknown feeling.

It reminded Ray of the days she had spent with her parents. It was like Christmas morning, or opening a big birthday present... all over a little choker. Her fingers curled around the dainty treasure, she took it on her hands. She held it up to her neck—then clasped it around the back.

"There," he smirked, "I _knew_ you were missing something."

Ray, didn't need to look in the glass pane again—she already knew how she felt about it. That, in itself, was an extravagant thing.

_She loved it. _

"It's perfect," she said softly, her pointer and index pressed delicately to the glass cross. Her long, blonde lashes drew to a close, as if cherishing the gift, however more-so the sentiment. "I'll _never_ take it off."

"Don't get_ too_ excited," he laughed. The sound of glass crunching beneath his boots echoed among the yet-sounding store alarm. "If anyone catches you wearin' it, it's_ your_ funeral."

His mood resonated to her—she gave a respectful nod. "Don't worry. No one will kill me besides you," —the closest thing she could give to a humorous reply. He seemed to enjoy the effort.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll make sure not to get _blood_ all over it when I slit your throat," he joked (though only somewhat.) Giving Ray a firm pat on the shoulder, he nodded, ushering her along. "C'mon, let's get out of here before the police show up."


End file.
